“Well, then.”
Bob had an inspiration. It was born out of moonshine, her urging, and the hunger of his heart. His spurs trailed across the grass.
“Is my red haid high enough now?” he asked, smiling.
Panic touched her pulse. “Yes, Bob.”
“What have I got over all the world?” he quizzed.
“Dominion,” she said obediently in a small voice.
“Over all of it?”
“I—don’t—know.”
His brown hands fastened on her shoulders. He waited till at last her eyes came up to meet his. “Every teeny bit of it.”
“Have your own way,” she replied, trying feebly to escape an emotional climax by repeating the words he had used. “I know you will anyhow.”